


what is it, to be free?

by chrisfromskins



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Kylo is mysterious, gilded cage vibes in later chapters, rey is emotionally stunted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:28:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27875345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrisfromskins/pseuds/chrisfromskins
Summary: a familiar man is shot outside of Rey's shitty apartment complex.
Relationships: Rey/Kylo Ren/Ben Solo
Kudos: 2





	what is it, to be free?

It was a quiet Tuesday before a series of shots rang out. Rey didn't startle, not since the first week that a bullet sailed through her window while she was attempting to repair one of her favorite socks. She didn't have many nice things, so she found it necessary to stretch what she had. The socks were courtesy of a donation bin at a local church, the needle and thread "borrowed" from a Hobby Lobby. Since that evening, she found herself somewhat apathetic to the noises. One sound, however, caught her off guard. 

There was a grunt as someone fell against her front door. She felt her anxiety spike, was she about to get murdered on her only night shift off in two weeks? But there was no more repeated bangs against her door, only a low groan that was barely audible if you weren't straining your ears like a crazy person. Metal bat gripped in hand, Rey approached the door and peered out the greasy lensed peephole in her door. She let out a suck scream as she saw a dark figure at the bottom of her sight line. 

_ If I open the door it could be a trap,  _ Rey tried to rationalize with herself,  _ but I don't just want to leave some random guy at the entrance to my apartment. _

She swung open the door, despite every nerve in her body arguing against it. A darkly clothed figure fell halfway in the door, his large body slumping to the ground with a low moan. Rey stared sort of numbly down at him, trying to assess whether she could drag a man of his size in the door, much less into her pitiful bathroom to clean him up. That was the least of her worries, she had just noticed a large, wet stain growing on his side. She pulled the rest of him into her front hall and managed the door shut. He laid there, bleeding onto the scratched up wood floor. She looked at him for a few seconds again, trying to see if he had any other wounds. The get up he was in was not helping her in the slightest. Black shirt, black cargo pants, black combat boots, etc. It wasn't until he let out another groan as she pressed around the area of his wound that she knew she had to move quickly. 

Rey kept some medical equipment. There wasn't a free clinic nearby, she usually had to take what she could get from donation bins. She had big enough plasters to cover the wound, though no supplies for stitching it up. As she held a hand towel that she had grabbed from the kitchen over a gunshot wound, she began to feel overwhelmed. But the bleeding was slowing and the color was returning to the strangers face.

The stranger. He was not a stranger. No stranger at all.

For as long as he had been laying on her floor, Rey hadn't really taken a good look at him. His face was severe, with sweat beading at his brow and his forehead furrowing. His jaw was clenched, and she had a sudden urge to try and comfort him. This impulse is typically foreign for her. She's never had the motherly instincts or loving tendencies that other people show so easily. It was probably because she'd been an orphan all her life. She took another glance at him and found two brown eyes staring back at her. Was he conscious enough to understand her if she tried to talk to him? 

She placed the back of her hand on his forehead to see if he was warm and let her hand glide down the plane of his face. He stared at her still, alarm clearly in his eyes. She couldn't tell if it was from the gentle touch from her hand or the shock from being shot. She checked his side again and decided the bleeding had stopped enough to clean it up properly. Gently, she used her kitchen scissors to cut away the shirt so she could properly look at the bullet hole. She found he was built under the shirt, a firm midsection that implied he was very fit. He shivered as her hands felt the bare skin around the wound while she sanitized it. She placed multiple plasters on the area, but it still seemed lackluster. She stared down at her hands, covered in a ~~strange~~ man's blood. 

I patted down the rest of him, looking for other bruised spots, but stopped in my tracks as I felt around his hips and found a hard shape in his pants, like a gun. His head snapped up as I felt that area and I looked at him in shock. For a second, neither of us seemed to breathe. 

"Kylo," I said hoarsely, staring him down for a moment. He looked at me funnily as he moved his hand to his side and felt up my hack job of medical treatment.

"Rey" he answered, still staring at me. I feel like he's trying to cut me down with his eyes. I sighed and ran my hands through my hair, realizing suddenly how crazy I must look. Covered in his blood after just dragging him into my apartment. 

"...Can you move? I kind of have a giant blood stain on my floor now and I can't afford to lose my deposit on this place." I said firmly, ignoring how badly my chest was tightening with anxiety. He leveled me with a stare again, but this one felt more like a glare now. Had I offended him? He should use his words.

"Sure, if you caress my cheek like that again." He bargained, the corner of his lip twitching upwards.

"Kylo." I said, bereft of care. His lip tugged up again, like he was mocking my attitude. He groaned as he began to shift himself to an upright position and I immediately tried to brace my hands on him to help. Eventually, we got him sitting up against my wall, leaning on the wall. I started scrubbing the floor, trying to get every speck of blood off of it. He just continued to watch me mutely with that small smile on his face. 

Eventually, I finished scrubbing the floor and Kylo no longer looked ready to keel over. I stood up and looked over my pitiful little apartment, trying to figure out where he could rest. I had a kitchen, a bathroom, and a small living room that connected to my bedroom. The living room only had a chair and table, my bedroom had a bed but it was just a twin. Looking at Kylo, I noticed a few things that ticked me off in the direction of his obvious wealth, the luxury I used to live in. A thick gold band on his right hand, an expensive watch on his left wrist. His hair looked clean and smooth, despite its length. His clothes were high quality as well. I had to wonder whether he was grossed out by how obviously poor I was. That, and why he was even in my area, much less getting shot in front of my door. 

"Do you want to lay down?" I asked him awkwardly. I'd never really had a man in my apartment before, other than my sleazy landlord, let alone an injured one from my past. He nodded and started to get up, and I decided to try and hold some of his weight. That was a mistake. He was still huge, at least double my size, and now he was leaning on my malnourished ass to get him to my crappy twin bed. We shuffle to my bedroom and he sits on the edge of my bed, the springs creaking under his weight. He scooted up to fit on the bed, not that he ended up being able to. His frame was much too big for my bed. He stared up at me still, nuzzling into my pillow as if it was a California king bed at a 5 star hotel. He even smiled more, bit by bit, as I sat down next to him. Again, I felt the urge to comfort him. For such an intimidating man, he seemed to have wilted a little bit. I tentatively put my hand on his forehead again, running it through his long, dark hair. He leaned into my touch, smiling even bigger. He must be in shock.

I really wish he wasn’t in my bed right now, much less my apartment or a five mile radius of me. He had such a way of making me ugly and tender. My face crumples at his smile, even after these years I was still affected by him. Maybe it’s not that I’m bothered he’s in my bed right now. Maybe it’s that on nights other than this, nights I wished he would’ve held me close to him, he was nowhere to be found. Now, just when I can finally breathe, he shows up at my front door.

I looked away, to my alarm clock flickering the digits 12:24 at me. I had to sleep, I was working a morning shift in 7 hours and I had to be up in 6. 

"Scooch. I have work in a few hours." I remark. He moves over as much as he can, given that there's not much to work with. I climb in under the blanket that he's laying on top of and immediately feel his warmth on my back. I would ask him to turn over, but I know he can't sleep on the side with the bullet wound. 

I feel him rub his knuckles on my bare upper arm and freeze. I'm not good with affection, or really with being touched. Being in my tiny bed with this man typically would be enough to set me in a state, but I didn't feel so bothered until he decided to touch my arm. I’m just not sure what he wants from me at this moment. I tried to even out my breathing, pretending not to be wildly anxious. 

His hand left my arm and soon enough, I was in a dreamless sleep.

  
  



End file.
